(NOTE: Running time last night: First mile in 11:10 mins, shaved off 14 seconds. 5K -- 3.1 miles -- in 34:29. Shaved off more than a minute!! *Cough* Not that I'm timing myself or anything...)
So while my running buddy is living it up at Disney World this week, she asked if I could run by and feed her cats. I said that wasn't a problem; I've done it before, and I like her cats, even though I feel like one of them is plotting to overthrow the world. But that's another story.
Superman sweetly agreed to go with me yesterday, and we found both cats eager for human attention and for more food. I refilled their food and water bowls, and I told Superman to see if their litter box needed emptying.
Please note: Neither Superman nor I have ever taken care of indoor cats. We had one cat for about six months, but he lived outdoors...much to his chagrin...which is probably why he found another family that made him wear a purple collar...again, another post.
Turns out the kitty litter box was FULL. Superman gagged, mentioning something about his week stomach, and I rolled his eyes at this obvious melodrama. "I'll take it outside and dump it," I said, thinking this was a logical situation (Right?). But there was a problem. The box was too heavy for me to easily take it outside.
Superman saw the problem. "Grab one end, and I'll grab the other," he offered.
As the cats ate dinner, we took their bathroom outside and prepared for the dump. We both poured. And Superman gagged again...and dropped the box.
Thank goodness it was almost empty, but he ran over to the side of the yard and vomited on the grass.
Okay. I know this is mean. But I did laugh.
And maybe cried from laughing so hard.
Poor thing!! We're still not 100% sure why he reacted in such a way (as our pup has left us MUCH WORSE "presents"), but I think I'll be handling the kitty litter box solo next time.
Or maybe he can just hold his breath. We'll see.